


drunk text romance (next morning nonsense, quick call before bed)

by hotknife666 (hotdammneron)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Sexting, Bass Pro Shops, M/M, boner jokes, not accidental sex-ing, not hockey players, travis konecny is the big spoon. bangs gavel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 16:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19908985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotdammneron/pseuds/hotknife666
Summary: Nolan isn’t exactly shocked when he gets a “u up? Come over” text from Teeks at like, two in the fucking morning.He is, evidently, up. He comes over.





	drunk text romance (next morning nonsense, quick call before bed)

**Author's Note:**

> whats UP yall im julien im 19 and i never learned how to not write fic in more than a day. woke up this morning, thought 'i'm gonna write some porn', wrote most of this, forgot to write any porn, had to add it in there. 
> 
> title from drunk text romance by cyberbully mom club, because it's 2014. you do not KNOW how hard it was for me to not name this after portions for foxes by rilo kiley again. 
> 
> this is just that tumblr post that says "okay stupidass *kisses you passionately" and i'm not sorry. 
> 
> my twitter is @blghorny

It’s like, maybe weirdly telling of their relationship as a whole fucked up thing that this has happened before. Even if the last two or whatever times were like, obviously a joke, and one of them was a sick and twisted way of tricking Nolan into a surprise party back in their junior year. 

So, no, the point is, Nolan isn’t exactly shocked when he gets a “u up? Come over” text from Teeks at like, two in the fucking morning. 

He is, evidently, up. He comes over. 

Travis doesn’t answer the door when Nolan knocks, because he’s dumb as fuck, but Nolan doesn’t have the spare key on him, because they’re both dumb as fuck. It’s probably - like, one of those weird message delays, like he tried to send the text however many goddamn hours ago and it only sent now, because Trav’s data plan fucking sucks. He should’ve texted back before he came over, or he should’ve not come over at all. 

The problem with being so fucking whipped for your best friend is it makes you, like, really fucking stupid. Following 2AM ‘come over’ texts are no exception. 

Nolan’s about to cede defeat and go back upstairs to not sleep when Travis opens the door. He looks pissed, and he looks like he just barely got dressed maybe three seconds ago. Nolan thinks, distantly, that he might have a boner. It’s the kind of thing that probably warrants a discreet double check.

“What the fuck, dude?” Travis demands. He does, upon second glance, have a goddamn boner. 

“Oh my god,” Nolan mumbles, because. It doesn’t really warrant an explanation, but he’s considering getting surgery or something to orient all of his blood vessels away from his cheeks, so he can never fucking blush again. The part of his brain that is like, diametrically opposed to having good thoughts, just keeps thinking about Trav having a boner, which is pretty pressing. 

The point is, Nolan’s mumbling apologies and he’s about to run home and fake his own death, but Trav’s grabbing him by the collar of his sweatshirt and pulling him with remarkable Short King Strength into the apartment, So .

Nolan stands in the doorway of the apartment like the world’s shittiest vampire, and Travis storms into the kitchen. Nolan wonders, deep down in his nasty horny heart, if he still has a boner. Like, reasonably speaking, that kind of thing doesn’t dissipate over a moment’s silence. 

“Why are you here,” Travis ask-demands, coming back into the hallway with a gatorade that he is very obviously not planning on sharing. He still, like, kinda has a boner. Nolan isn’t sure if he feels weird for checking. 

“You - you texted me, bro,” Nolan says, which is a weak defense, since he doesn’t have his phone, because he’s a fucking idiot. Trav looks a little bit like he’s about to try and crush the gatorade bottle in his hands, which would be an admirable feat. That plastic is like, mad thick. 

Remarkably, Travis does not crush the gatorade bottle, and he doesn’t kill Nolan in cold blood. Either response would’ve been pretty fair. 

“I can like - I can go, dude, you can get back to. Your business.” Nolan, deciding geniusly not to gesture at Travis’ dick, takes one giraffe legged step back and bumps into the apartment door. He’s still weirdly cornered. 

Teeks pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “You can stay, whatever. The mood’s kinda gone anyway, dude.”

“Why did you send me a fucking ‘you up’ text if you didn’t want me coming over?” Nolan asks between episodes of that weird youtube cooking show Trav keeps making him watch. He hasn’t been paying any attention, because the shirt Travis hastily threw on when they committed to hanging out all night keeps riding up, and he can see just a little bit of the cut of his hip bone whenever Trav reaches for the chips on the table. And like, he doesn’t have a boner anymore, obviously, but he’s still very much freeballin’ it in his sweats and that weird old Bass Pro Shops tee he got for free on black friday six years ago, and, well. 

Nolan’s only human, okay? 

“I didn’t mean to send it to you, jackass,” Travis mumbles, and if Nolan was any deeper into his horny shame spiral he wouldn’t have even heard him. Nolan raises his eyebrows and kicks Travis in the shin. 

“Dude, it was like, obviously not for you, fuckin’ moron,” Travis says, kicking Nolan’s feet away from his shins. He’s all huffy like he always gets when he’s - embarrassed, whatever. He’s embarrassed. “Like, what the fuck, if I sent you a dick pic would you come over?”

“D’you send all the boys dick pics?” Nolan asks, because he’s a king of silently deflecting from his legit issues and feelings. King of stoicism, that kinda thing. 

“You’re an idiot,” Travis scoffs, reaching across the couch to cuff Nolan across the side of his head. Gentle, but still there. “It’s a hypothetical, bitch, I’m not sending any of our friends dick pics, the point is, like -” 

“You were trying to get dicked down, and you texted me on accident, I get it,” Nolan interrupts, trying so goddamn hard for casual. He isn’t fully sure if he misses the mark, but the tips of Travis’ ears look like they’re a little pink. Just a little bit. It’s just kinda neat to not be the only one blushing, for once. 

The point is, Travis is blushing, and it’s the biggest fucking thrill of Nolan’s life. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he says, sort of folding himself in half on the couch like he’s trying not to have any physical or spiritual contact with Nolan, which. That part sucks. Like, really really sucks, but that’s no big. 

And Nolan is like, okay, he gets it, yeah? It’s a tough situation, and there’s not really any solutions to this shit, but there’s no solutions to Nolan’s shit, either. There’s nothing particularly rational about the weird and guilty optimistic feeling he got when Trav pulled him inside, that shit all sucks. Like, he got his hopes up, yes, but that’s all his own damn fault. 

They end up sprawled all over each other halfway through a video of a dude making sauerkraut, or something else nebulously pickled, because they always do. Travis has this godawful couch he found at goodwill, peeling fake leather garbage, and Nolan’s got a theory that Trav only has it out of spite. Or because, like, as long as Nolan’s over he’s never actually sitting on the couch, because the guy’s like a heat seeker for spooning, as much as he’d kill Nolan if he told anybody.

So, yeah, 2AM boner awkwardness aside, it’s been an hour of weird cooking videos, it’s in the past, and they’re spooning now. Or, like, as close as they can really get to spooning on the nightmare couch. Nolan’s like, a foot taller than the couch is long, so. 

“You’re kinda an idiot,” Travis mumbles, and Nolan really wants to get on his case for the mumbling thing lately, because that’s his job. 

“That’s why we get along,” he says instead of arguing. “What’d I do this time?” 

“You - you put up with so much shit from me, dude,” Travis says, because he’s shittier to himself than he is to anybody else. “Like, you could’ve stopped hanging out with me after our freshman year, y’know? We were cool as roommates, but, I dunno. It’s not like everyone’s bros with their freshman roommates two years after graduating.” 

“Are you complaining that we’re still friends?” Nolan asks. 

“No, it’s just - I know I’m a lot sometimes, that’s all. And you’re still like, chillin.” Trav shifts a little where he’s laying draped half behind Nolan, burying his face into his back. 

“It’s a mutual thing, dude,” Nolan says, reaching across to Trav’s laptop to turn the volume down on the sauerkraut video, if they’re gonna have a heart to heart or whatever. “We’re both annoying as fuck, of course we’re sticking together.” 

“You’re stuck with me forever,” Trav says, voice kinda quiet. It’s almost endearing, god damn him. He’s also, maybe sniffing Nolan’s hair, or he’s maybe getting kinda snuffly and emotional, which are two very different energies and Nolan can’t really deal with either. 

“Dude, are you sniffing me?” he asks, because he needs to figure out how much his body’s going to involuntarily freeze up. 

“Maybe,” Travis says, all defensive. “Your hair smells nice, bitch, don’t make it weird. We’re having a moment, look at me.”

Nolan does as he’s told, as embarrassing as that is to think, just kind of squirms around on the stupid tiny couch until he’s facing Trav. The collar of his shirt is too loose around his neck, and his collarbone is showing. Just a little bit. Nolan’s seen Travis shirtless, more times than he can count, but he wants to see it again, maybe. Pay more attention this time around. Give him the attention he’s worth. 

“Stop calling me dumb if we’re having a moment,” Nolan says, even if that might count as being dumb, because at least he can trust it to come out right. 

“We’re having a moment about us both being dumb,” Travis mumbles, wiggling a bit until he can get his arm around Nolan’s waist. His breath is hot in Nolan’s face, and his hair’s falling sideways over his forehead, and it’s all, like, painfully real. “Can I like - okay, we’re both dumb, can I ask you a dumb question?” 

Nolan nods, and he’s a little breathless from trying to stay balanced on the edge of the couch, and he’s more breathless from laying this close, even if they’ve definitely been closer, it’s not a big deal. 

“Dude, this is like, five years too late,” Travis mumbles, and he looks like he used to before they went into the shootout, like he’s steeling himself for something really goddamn important. Nolan’s treacherous heart does a backflip. 

“I really, really want to kiss you,” Nolan says in a rush, and tries to figure out how fast he could roll off of the couch, and if the impact would be enough to smash through the floor and land him safely back in his own apartment, where he can die alone. He doesn’t even live, like, directly down from Teeks, so that plan’s a little flawed, desperate times and desperate measures and all that. 

“Why’d you have to beat me to everything, I was about to ask that,” Trav says, and he’s bunching his fingers up in the front of Nolan’s hoodie again, and he’s kissing him. And it’s - frantic, to say the least. 

Okay, anyone who’s been in the same space as Travis for more than one second knows that he is an absolutely wiggly bastard. Nolan almost took the wheels off his desk chair entirely when they lived together, just so he’d maybe hold still for once in his goddamn life. His feet are always tapping, he’s tugging on his hoodie strings, anything. 

So, yeah, he’s like that to kiss, too. He’s got one hand in the front of Nolan’s sweatshirt and the other one tangled up in his hair, and he’s tugging on his hair a little bit, biting at his lower lip too much. And it’d be alright no matter what, because Nolan’s been wanting to do this since the first time Trav was too drunk to climb up into his own stupidly tall loft bed and fell asleep all pressed up against Nolan’s back, but. 

It’d be nicer if he got to slow down a little, is all. 

Nolan’s got a little bit of a size advantage, since he’s almost half a foot taller than Teeks, which is weird and horny to think about. He’s allowed to be weird and horny, now at least. He kind of tugs Travis up onto his lap, so he’s straddling his hips, and his sweatpants are riding down a little bit in the back, and that’s good. 

“Is this,” Nolan starts to ask, pulling back from Trav’s mouth as much as possible to try and get any words out. “Is this your nefarious plan to get me to -” 

Travis interrupts by grinding his hips down a fraction, and it’s a real contrast with how Nolan wasn’t even, like, looking at his boner earlier. “Bro, don’t think you’re just like, a dick appointment,” he says, punctuating it with another too frantic kiss. “You’re more than that, babe.”

That’s new, at least. Nolan isn’t sure if anyone’s ever like, legitimately called him pet names, so. That’s something to file away for later. 

Trav’s still moving too much, squirelly motherfucker that he is, so Nolan tries to flip them as gently as possible, if it’s a bit to angle on the couch. Ends up with Nolan’s knees bracketing Travis’ hips, and it’s a big fucking something, the way Trav reaches his hands above his head, grabs onto the armrest of the couch behind him. It’s like he’s trying to hold still, making a concerted effort against his wigglyass nature. It’s admirable, really.

Nolan wraps a hand most of the way around his wrists, and Travis fucking shudders. It’s a full body thing. Kinda life changing, really. Nolan has to kiss him or he’s gonna die. 

“If you don’t touch my dick soon I’m sending you home,” Travis half gasps into Nolan’s mouth between kisses, and he’s holding still, now, but barely. He’s like a loaded spring, or something. Nolan manages to keep his grip on his wrists, reaches his other hand down into Trav’s stupid sweatpants. He wants to ruck up that hideous Bass Pro Shops shirt and bite his abs, or something. Maybe another day. 

Nolan works his hand in quick stripes up the shaft, pausing to thumb at the precome beaded at the head, and Travis is panting in his ear, his whole body arching up into Nolan’s when he twists his wrist. 

“Hold still,” he mumbles, letting go of his grip on Trav’s wrists and shuffling down enough to pull his sweats around his thighs, wrapping his lips around the tip of his dick and sucking lightly. He can’t really find it in himself to complain when Travis lets go of the couch arm and pulls his fingers back through Nolan’s hair, tugging on it when Nolan licks at the head of his dick, matches pace with the stroke of his palm. He pulls harder, muttering nonsense, comes into Nolan’s mouth. 

When Nolan sits up enough to look at Travis, he looks like his soul’s left his body through his dick, slumped against the arm of the couch with his lips bitten. His eyes are nearly closed, and he looks sleepy, thoroughly debauched when he pats the tops of his thighs and Nolan straddles him with embarrassing urgency. 

He pulls down Nolan’s shorts enough to get his dick out and strokes it lazily, like he doesn’t understand the urgency of the goddamn matter at hand. He uses his free hand to pull Nolan down into a kiss, letting Nolan get a rhythm up thrusting into his hand, and Nolan’s just about to lose his mind when Teeks pulls back from the kiss again, splaying his free hand against his cheek. 

“Y’wanna hear a secret?” he asks, and Nolan wishes he had the higher brain functioning available to be a bitch about it, snap something about wanting to come, not wanting to hear a secret. All he can really do is nod. 

“I’ve wanted you to ride my dick since, like, the day we met,” Travis mumbles, and does this god awful combination of grinding his hips up and prodding his thumb into Nolan’s mouth right when he says it, and that’s what pushes Nolan over the edge, scraping his teeth along the pad of his thumb while Trav works him through it. 

There’s some navigating to be done, unfortunately, for as useless as they both are; they end up stumbling down the hall to Trav’s bedroom, stopping every few feet to make out and for Nolan to work out the kinks in his back from the couch. Travis disappears into the bathroom, comes back with a wet washcloth and some boxers for Nolan to borrow, throws all their ruined clothes into the laundry basket. 

Nolan finally, at long fucking last, gets that Bass Pro Shops shirt off of Travis, and vows silently to steal it someday. 

“Hey,” Travis says when they’re curled up in his twin XL bed, Nolan’s feet hanging a little off the edge. “Hey, Patty baby, are you still awake?” 

Nolan just wiggles a little, and hopes that’s answer enough. 

“D’you have your phone on you?” Trav asks, like a fucking steamroller. 

“I left it at home,” Nolan grumbles, and he pulls Travis’ arm over his waist up to press his hand against his heart. If he’s a little bit sappy, that’s between the two of them. 

“Oh, fuck,” Travis says with a little laugh, like he’s up to no good, because he probably is. “I was gonna text you on accident again, see if you’re up for a round two.” 

“Trav, I swear to god,” Nolan says, and Trav’s grip around him tightens a little. “Next time you ask me if I’m up, I’m not coming over, okay?”

Travis gasps, all fake scandalized like an old southern belle. “You wouldn’t betray me like that, you’d never!” he says, really playing it up, tugging at the hem of Nolan’s shirt. 

“You’re right, I like you too much,” Nolan says, covering Trav’s hand at his collar with his own. “‘S a good thing you’re pretty, Teeks.”

“And you love my dick,” Travis mutters, pressing a kiss to the back of Nolan’s neck. 

“You’re right, you’re right, okay,” Nolan shivers a little mid-sentence when Trav bites over where he’d just kissed, a little scrape of teeth. He’s probably gonna drive Nolan to an early grave, at this rate. 

“Hey, Nol. You up?” Travis says, real close to Nolan’s ear, and he giggles, because he thinks he’s so fuckin’ funny. 

“I’m always up for you, bro,” Nolan says, and it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever said, but he means it, somehow. 

Travis just tugs him a little bit closer, kicks a leg between Nolan’s and shoves his nose into his hair, however greasy and stringy it might be. “You’re such a romantic, babe. Go to sleep so we can have morning sex.” He mutters, and Nolan presses a kiss to his knuckles before he drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> travis konecny, sending a "u up" text deliberately while wearing a bass pro shops tee shirt and watching bon appetit its alive videos at 2am on a tuesday. i love everyone in this bar.


End file.
